


Fight....NO WAIT DON'T!

by Titans_R_Us



Series: The Moral of Their Story Is? [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dark fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Suspense, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, mutual respect, twisted but consensual relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 11:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Titans_R_Us/pseuds/Titans_R_Us
Summary: Love confessions are the worst when you’re trying to kill each other.Or maim.Whatever, take your pick.But when fights get personal between Ra's and Tim? They get...personal in more ways than one.





	Fight....NO WAIT DON'T!

Love confessions are the worst when you’re trying to kill each other.

Or maim.

Whatever, take your pick.

There’s three types of fights Tim gets into with Ra’s.

The first is the kind they both enjoy. It’s the classical cat chases mouse, Holmes and Moriarty, scenario. With clues in the dark, puzzles to solve, and explosions that are gorgeous. The stakes aren’t high except for the convenient ‘allies’ Ra’s puts in Tim’s path to mow down in righteous fury. He knows he’s the sharpest tool in Ra’s’ shed, better than any shadow that swears loyalty to the demon head when the League of Assassins has undue...competition. Tim would be more pissed at being _used_ but the millions of ill-gotten dollars he sets on fire tends to make up for it. _Another pet project bites the dust._ Plus, he swears Ra’s only has to sigh about how _plebeian_ it is for those new upstarts to employ means like _children_ and _drugs_...and it doesn’t take much after that for Tim to hop a jet and make those bastards burn. International prisons have never been so full.

Sometimes it’s better than roses and chocolate. But don’t tell Ra’s that.

Behind door number 2 is the general good-versus-evil venue. Where massive groups of underground evil organizations band together for another ‘Hey, let’s rule the world or end it’ party, and, you know, the Justice League _has_ to crash that. When that happens, Tim practically always waves at Ra’s when both groups line-up to strike a pose. The mayhem makes for the best photo op.

They have enough time to throw out a, “When the world is new, my love, you will behold the grandeur of paradise.”

“Aw, Ra’s, I thought paradise was whenever you were with _me_?”   

Elsewhere a teenage voice demands, “Grayson, fetch me one of those disposable bags, _I require one immediately.”_

“Too late,” A retching sound commences, “I used the last one.”

Then they all pick a partner and _dance_. Once again, Tim’s date is someone three times his size or a glob monster. In the corner of his eye, he watches B and Ra’s viciously strike and dodge. Is able to catch the moment Ra’s mouths his name. The only expressions Batman wears in the cowl is stone wall and _displeased_ stone wall with something pointy. Drifting between the shouts and yells of the crowds Tim can hear Ra’s laugh, and if he wasn’t making sure he doesn’t turn into pancake Red Robin, he’d notice B landing his hits harder. Stronger. More biting. More permanent.

But in this fight Ra’s and Tim don’t engage. In fact, since they’ve become lovers they don’t even spar because it’s not a good idea to play show-and-tell with their best moves...or their new ones.  

After all, they might need them for the third kind of fight, the fight where it’s _personal_.

Now, everyone has their happy triggers. For Tim, it’s don’t mess around with _his_ city and _his_ family.

For Ra’s, it’s the pits.

So tonight, in the present, when the event planner announces the keynote speaker, when the crowd goes wild, when the spotlight descends on one figure in muted green and gold, Tim knows exactly what kind of fight it’s going to be.

And it’s going to hurt.  

He winces when he feels more than sees Bruce stiffen at his side. It was just supposed to be “Support the Green” gala damn it.

The statue doesn’t get better with every word that Ra’s projects to the crowd, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I do not believe I could have hoped for a better reception in Gotham than this. You honor me. Tonight, I’m pleased to announce a project that has been in the making for years. An innovative way to clear the air, not only for you to breathe more than the smog that accosts your lungs, but clear a pathway to the _stars_ themselves.” A round of thunderous applause and Tim hands his and B’s glass of untouched wine to the waiter. He carefully palms the side of one and hopes the caterer doesn’t notice the small crack on Mr. Wayne’s.

Ra’s takes his time outlining the project, spinning a web for the audience that traps them in their enthusiasm. The Air Oasis is basically an air filter on steroids. Each unit is almost the size of a car, about fifty of them could be placed strategically around the city for a maximum effect. The machines would suck in every pollutant through the use of magnetics and a chemical of his own design. Tim mimics B, his whole body going going numb at that notion since _gee,_ what chemical or mysterious green substance could the man be speaking about? Then the Air Oasis machines would pump the recycled oxygen back into the city.

“Imagine strolling among the streets and in the place of refuse’s smell and filth, you are overcome with crisp, pure oxygen filling your senses instead?” The man gives a grand gesture.

Behind him when the projector screen is flooded with the Air Oasis design, Tim speaks into his lapel, “Babs, are you seeing this? Can you hack the feed and download the filter’s blueprint? There’s no way the fruitcake isn’t planning something.”

“On it, I’ll send you the analysis immediately once I pick it apart and check every screw.”

Tim whispers earnestly, “You are the most perfect badass I know, O.”

 _“You’re a liar,_ but flatter me more. I deserve it.”

“You’re beautiful and Dick never deserved you.”

She snorts in his ear lightly. “Of course he didn’t, that’s why we broke up.”

 _“And every night his pillow is wet with bitter tears,”_ he hisses back.

Oracle softly giggles and says, “He’ll have to cry harder than that to get me back. Send you that data soon, just stay on your toes and avoid dark corners with your wicked paramour. I’ll be watching and _judging you_. O out.”

Tim doesn’t have the heart to tell her Ra’s doesn’t mind having an audience. In fact, as the applause gets louder more people rush to the men at the side, giving their ‘donations’ to the project. Ra’s thrives from it.

The moment the demon’s speech is done, the deafening support on the ‘green’ idea established (which is going to be bitch to sabotage because Ra’s isn’t doing this from the shadows ironically...he’s doing this in the open, getting the public’s rapport so Tim can just foresee the PR nightmare) the two vigilantes wait. They don’t rush the man, but let him saunter from person to person to give his poisoned honey out. Their eyes glued on him, Brucie turning into Bruce turning into the Bat as he gets closer and closer until finally the criminal stands before him.  

He is not alone. Next to Ra’s is the most intimidating woman Tim has ever met besides his mother (don’t tell her he said that). Talia.

Tim gives the first volley, “Why do I think you’re not here just to see me in a suit?”

“You do look fetching, no _ravishing,_ in that attire, my love,” Ra’s purrs, his eyes roving over Timothy’s delightful form, “but you are correct. I am not.”

Tim won’t admit it, but Ra’s doesn’t look half bad either. The black suit is fitted to his broad shoulders, delicate highlights of his trademark colors running through the fabric. Beside him Talia floats in brilliant green to match. Long gloves cover the scars she’s earned on her arms, while finery and gems makes her skin glisten.

“What are you doing here?” Brucie’s voice breaks into a growl, unable to keep his lighthearted persona now that the Demon is in his presence.

“Since you so enjoy traipsing through my territory, destroying my property, destroying my pits, _four of my—_ ” The assassin’s demeanor cracks a little, his wrath bleeding through for a second until that mouth curls into smirk, “I thought it best to return the favor and find time to appreciate what’s _yours_.”

“What are you planning.” It’s a demand, not a question.

“If you are unable to uncover the truth on your own, then you are not the detective I once called you.”

The Bat lurches forward, but Tim steps between them, placing a hand on B’s chest to push him back an inch. B looms like the biblical Goliath, dwarfing him (completely unfair), but Tim tilts his head and gives a brilliant smile, “But he _does_ have someone you call ‘Detective’ now. I’m sure with the both of us, past and future sleuths, your plan doesn’t stand a chance.”

“We shall see, beloved.” He beckons to Talia. “But, for now, we shall find ways to enjoy the company of others. All too soon it will be end of this godforsaken city. Daughter, perhaps you could dance with your detective while I speak to mine?”

“Yes, Father. Habibi?” Talia reaches and trails her fingers down Bruce’s sleeve. “Join me for a song or two. We have much to discuss.”

Bruce twists his head to his charge. “Tim.”

“Go, I’ll be fine.”

Bruce continues to glance backwards as Talia leads him to the dance floor. His face thunderous as Ra’s gets closer and closer to his son until they’re barely an inch apart.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what, my love?” Greedily, Ra’s takes Tim’s wrist and rubs a thumb over his pulse. Steady, unafraid...incredible.

“You know he hates when you play the perverted creep.”

“Yet I have not done anything to warrant such a reputation.” Ra’s says mockingly, interlocking their fingers together. “Perhaps that should _change_. Please, this way. I’ve been told the gardens are most lovely.”

“You are the worst.” But Tim does nothing when Ra’s places his other hand on his lower back. Does nothing against that press as they move further from the crowd to the more...secluded setting. Outside of the pavilion, the rooftop garden is simple but elegant. You have to be rich (or Poison Ivy) to grow anything in this city. It is also speckled with a few benches and alcoves like the one Ra’s pulls him into.

There the Demon head gives in to hunger and finally wraps his lover in his arms. It’s been far too long since he’s held his Timothy. In the night, the music plays faintly in the background and it’s sentimental surely, but there is a definite moment or two where they sway back and forth.

Ra’s takes a deep breath and sighs, “How I long to dance with you in public.”

“And ruin my carefully maintained persona?” Tim raises an eyebrow. “How about _no_?”

Yet they still dance for the whole song, Ra’s turning them slightly before they add anything.

“I thought we had an agreement. I keep an open mind about ‘certain’ things while you keep your stupid green cape out of Gotham. _So why are you here?”_

“Because I have allowed too many insults to go unchecked. Thanks to the _Bat_ ,” Ra’s spat, “too much of my empire has been reduced to ash without any sign of my displeasure. The time for retribution is now.”

“I destroy your stuff all the time.” Tim points out.

“Yet you tend to leave the secret of my immorality alone, dearest. It was not you that inspired my wrath last month. It was not you who has limited my resources to _three_ pits.”

No. But Tim did _give_ the locations to Bruce when he asked. He also knows _very well_ exactly what kind of firepower that’s needed to destroy a pit for good. He swallows and says nothing, looking away from the man.

“What do the machines actually do, Ra’s?” If Tim can just get a clue, a detail, anything to guess what’s to come, then he’ll have a better chance.

A dark laugh. Well that can’t be good. “I assure you, the filtration units perform their designed function, nothing more. They will filter this wretched air your disgusting city has polluted and leave only oxygen in its place. They will cleanse this city from its filth. Perhaps you will thank me when the progress is finished, my dear.”

“Don’t count on it.” He makes a note to check the machine’s blueprints himself when O is done with them. He’s going to stop him. No matter what, Tim is going to stop him. “Whatever you are planning, it’ll never work.”

“On the contrary, already the fools inside have agreed to install the units on the morrow. In hours—” Ra’s stops and breaks into a tense quirk of a smile, “And already you have me monologuing, for _shame_ my lips are too loose around you.”

“It’s not my fault you love to talk.” Damn. A line or two more could have been vital. But Tim notes his own bad habits, how it doesn’t faze him at all as Ra’s manhandles him to have his back against a brick wall. How the assassin’s arms cage him there and Tim doesn’t feel threatened at all...yeah, he should get that checked out.

“My mouth loves to do _many_ things when it’s around you,” Ra’s mutters, his thumb coming up to rub at the bottom lip that calls to him. “Tell me, beloved, will you hate me when I win?”

Tim doesn’t even miss a beat, “I don’t know, will you hate me when you lose?” He crosses his arms in challenge. His forearms brush against the other with how little space there is between them.

Ra’s stares into those eyes, so pretty and oh so sure and chuckles bitterly. “Let us see what the fates decide.”

“No conscious effort on our parts?” Tim states wryly, but let his cheek rest in that palm. “No chance of you backing down if I ask nicely?”

“I calculate the same probability if I begged you to stay uninvolved.”

So zero, “Fuck.”

“Indeed...would you do if I told you there a jet ready to take you away? Would you leave before destruction leaves none in its path? Or stay to be numbered with the dead?”

“Who says there’s going to be any dead? Who says that your scheme won’t be destroyed, _like it always is_ , instead? What, you think I’m going to go easy on you just because _I like you?_ Don’t kid yourself, when I’m done with you your ninjas will have to scrape you off the dirty sidewalk.”

There’s a sharp intake, a gasp, and for a second Tim thinks his words have some effect. And they have, but it’s not the threat that has Ra’s fingers digging into his jaw, dragging Tim up against him. Tim shoots out his arms to brace himself, yet their chests smush together as Ra’s other arm coils tightly around him.

“Why I believe that’s the first time you’ve admitted any sort of fondness for me...how wildly unfortunate to reveal your affections now.” The green of those eyes darken and Tim’s flinch gives his surprise away. Is it really the first time?

“Is it? Well, I’ve always been more of a man of action.” He starts to pry the hand off his face, but Ra’s isn’t having it. The digits just slide through Tim’s hair to the base of his skull and _pulls_. Tim winces as the man directs his head until their lips lightly touch. He even needs to stand on his toes because Ra’s is a special kind of tall bastard.

Ra’s mouth twists into a smirk against beloved’s, the sensation divine. “This is true. Your actions, your body...has always been so _loud_.”

And he begins to take.

Their kisses always start soft.

Like a trap, each movement is gentle bait. Easing into the rhythm of hunger, as their lips slide against each other. Ra’s wants his lover frantic, desperate but it takes patience. Patience to wait, to seduce, to build the desire until they can’t stand any option other than being absolutely _consumed_.

It is the patience 800 years has rewarded him with.

Though with Timothy it is a cycle that feeds into each other, as the Detective’s demeanor finally melts, his own cravings become more ravenous.

Tim tilts his face up to gasp, yet Ra’s chases that mouth, chases that opening to use his tongue and taste. Tim’s legs buckle a little and Ra’s grips one hip tight to compensate. Soon he will need to wrap those coltish legs around his waist. It is where they belong.

A sharp pain, Ra’s rears back an inch to groan. He tongues the small cut on his lower lip and purrs. “Beloved, there are other ways to paint your lips red.”

Tim’s eyes are half-lidded, bored. One of Ra’s fingers, his pinky, rests on a pulse that tells Ra’s the truth. That the detective’s heart has started to race. “But you like it when I do it _this way_ the most.”

Ra’s burns. He does not know whose breath it is that rings so harshly in his ears. Who crashes their lips together harder first. Yet the iron from his blood is an excellent spice to this meal. He could get addicted in how one of Timothy’s arms comes over his shoulder to claw at his pressed suit. Could get lost in the quiet mewl that invokes Ra’s’ darkest determination to make into a scream—

 _Could get lost.._.Oh his clever, clever beloved.

“Are you are a distraction, my precious?” Ra’s snarls angrily, he jerks Timothy’s face to the side for a deeper, more exposed angle, as if he could devour this alluring creature whole. “A horrible.” _suck_. “wonderful.” kiss. “distraction?”

Meanwhile Tim is just trying to hold on, thanks.

 _“B-Bitch, I might be._ But what are you going to do, oh great Demon Head? Are you going to let yourself be distracted, is it going to be _worth_ it?” Tim’s breath comes fast with the challenge. So he never does anything for one reason. So what? The longer he can give Babs time to decode or Bruce to wring out intel with Talia...the better. The longer he can keep Ra’s focus on him and not his ‘plan,’ the better. The longer he can feel this...with him, the better. His thumb comes up to pop open the top button of his shirt, teasing his lover with a flash of collarbone through the gap. Ra’s cannot resist. The proof that Timothy is his has faded there and it’s unacceptable.

 _“Do not tempt me,”_ he cautions as he buries his face into that throat. His teeth already coming out to play.

“I t-think ah, I can handle it, thanks.”

Tim gives a little hop and naturally Ra’s drops his hands to help him. He clutches Tim under his thighs, which should be bare not loathsomely covered, to hoist him up, half reclining against the wall, half wrapped up around the assassin. It puts Tim’s head above his and frees up his hands to roam while Ra’s’ are occupied.

Ah, well he supposes the detective enjoys the chance of being tall. “I wonder what exactly I have let into my bed?”

“You mean the bed you practically blackmailed me into?”

“Only at first, my love. After all, I did not use any means to lure you there the second time, _nor every time after that.”_

Tim huffs stiffly, decides to do some marking of his own. He nudges Ra’s face out of the way and worries at the tendons of his neck, sucking hard, intending to bruise with the slight.

Timothy is so precious when he’s spiteful.

“It is as if we are Aesop’s frog and scorpion.”

“You and _your stupid stories,_ ” Tim grits out, but it turns into a moan when Ra’s squeezes his hands on his ass.

“Now, now, you enjoy my stories. _One day the scorpion begged the frog to cross river. The frog attempted to refuse out of fear, of that stinger gleaming wet in the sun. Yet the scorpion only rationalized that if he did sting the frog during the swim then both would die. Convinced, the frog began to cross the river, scorpion upon its back—”_

“Let me guess, this fable doesn’t have a happy ending?” He’s helpless to the hands on his ass, the mouth moving against his collarbone, all of it makes his hips jerk against Ra's.

_“—Yet once halfway across, the scorpion stung the frog mercilessly. As the two drown, the stunned, poisoned frog cries ‘Why?’ to the scorpion.”_

“Called it.” Tim pulls back to blow on the hickey in the making, rolls with Ra’s’ shiver and attempts to not react when Ra’s returns the favor. He fails. Especially when Ra’s starts to open up the rest of his shirt with his _teeth_ , revealing more sensitive pale skin that Ra’s loves, _needs_ to play with. Tim squirms when the warm mouth finds his nipple and flicks it with tongue. “A-And what did the—ah—scorpion’s say, Ra’s?”

 _“He replied, ‘Because I cannot resist my nature,’ and attacked the frog again and again until both were well under the waves. He was a scorpion and that is what scorpions do...they sting._ So tell me, beloved...which of us is the frog? And which the scorpion?”

And Tim manages to muffle the plea in the demon’s throat. The one crawling, scraping to escape with mangled, _‘Please. P-please don’t do this. Stop. Don’t hurt my city. Don’t hurt my people.’_  But the fable has a point, and it’s not fair of him to ask. Not when Ra’s won’t deliver and neither have convictions that bend or bow.

So while his mind turns with plans and next moves, with contingencies to try countering his insane significant other's maniacal plot-in-progress, Tim just drags Ra’s back to his lips and makes his kisses hurt, makes them sting and sting and _sting_. Because if this is the last time he can have any part of the man he took as his lover, then it’s best to make their mouths swollen and ruined.

Tim will remember him better that way.

“Oh Ra’s...you know the answer to that. _We’re both of them.”_

* * *

Some heroes are not needed.

Like Dick Grayson riding in out of nowhere to drag him out of Ra's arms. How he takes no time to get one hand on the back of Tim’s suit and _pull_.  Dick half-drags, half-carries him down the stairwell, and Tim is this close to punching him in the face. Those perfect teeth are begging to be ruined. The man’s hand around his wrist is like iron but it doesn’t stop Tim from mentally going over every technique he knows of how to break bones. Half of the buttons on his shirt are undone, the open fabric flapping as they race down to the car. Tim doesn’t bother fixing it, he’ll change out of his civilian day-wear soon enough. Luckily for him, he’d carried and stored the suit nearby, always. Better to thwart your evil plots with, my dear.

“This way!”

“I had it, Dick. No ‘rescue’ necessary.”

“No rescue necessary?” Dick stops for a moment to wildly gesture at him. Pointing at the red marks littering Tim’s skin, he even lets go of the arm to fuss over clothes until Tim smacks his fingers. “Tim, you look like you were mauled by a lion.”

 _“It was a sexy lion._ Did B send you? I told him I was going to be fine.” He glances backwards, wondering if Ra’s is with the rest of the crowd pretending to be impressed with the last event, or if he’s at the top of the emergency stairwell, eyes hungry and dark.

“Wait, are you _mad_ that I stopped you on the roof?”

“No.” _Yes_. It’s complicated. Even though the Bats have a long history, almost a long freaking _tradition_ of trysts on top of buildings. Even though Tim is a perfectly legal, consenting adult with a tie, _a tie that Tim had plans for and didn’t get to use,_ dammit. Maybe he could have used it to gag the man after he promised, ‘ _If tonight is our last, I shall not rest until pleasure overwhelms you. Until all you can do is sob and keen my name._ ’ Though, it does puts Tim in the very awkward position of trying to have sex with someone that’s doing his _best_ to kill his family...It’s complicated. It’s always been.

He’s a pot surrounded by kettles. Just taste the ash and call it good. Really what Tim has done, _is still doing_ , is mild on the bat spectrum.

He’s never killed anyone.

He’s never slept around, making notches on his belt with vigilante and enemy alike.

It’s just the one. This one relationship that’s ironically _healthier_ compared to what their little family’s been through. It’s consistent. Adoring, smothering, and respectful. The man is a liar, but he’s never lied to Tim about the way he feels.

It’s more than he can say for rest of the Bats.

But it’s probably better this way. Better that the person with the dick joke in his name stopped them, cockblocked the two before the rest of the guests wandered outside for the fireworks display.

_‘Why should that matter, Mr...Grayson? The shadows hide us well and the fireworks would cover up your brother’s delicious cries.’_

Dick lunged at Ra’s for those words.

It’s fine.

“Timmy…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Tim grits his teeth. “Let’s just focus on the here and now.”

Dick grabs a shoulder before they hit the street. “You know I care, right? I just don’t want you to get hurt. I–”

“I know.” He knows the others think him compromised. He knows they care, they just don’t trust that he can get things done anyway. “Now get out there and take care of some ninja scum for us. I’ll see you back in the cave.”

Dick squeezes tightly, his mouth a thin line but nods. “See you there, little brother.” He hands Tim what he needs and turns to the police car parked on the street.

The vigilante sighs. A car door shuts in the background, but his head tilts up to the sky blooming in color. It’s a shame. It’s sort of romantic. The kind you find in movies, books, and songs. It might have been nice...to watch them together with his lover. His bangs swing to shake the sentiment out of his head and then he gets to work.

“Talk to me, O,” as the Ducati vibrates between his thighs.

Leaving the presentation with his body _throbbing_ and unsatisfied was really not how he’d hoped to end the night, but _still_ , he’s got a nefarious plot to stop.

“It’s mechanical engineering only,” is the reply through his comm while he hangs a sharp right and the spot on his collar bone aches for more _touch_. “The machine is going to work pretty well considering we don’t know exactly what’s going to be powering it.”

Well, _fuck_.

“So how he plans to use to the Pit on Gotham and to what ends,” is his grim summation.

“Right on the money. To his credit, it _is_ a filtration system, but without more details on his ‘mystery element,’ we have no idea what chemical could be pumped out. It _could_ be a form of the Lazarus Pit, but I really doubt Ra’s al Ghul is trying to make half of Gotham pretty much immortal.”

Numbly, Red is already planning on where he needed to break-in to get the missing component, how he’d need to get into the warehouse on Dixon Dock to check out Ra’s little chemical lab.

“Can’t you send the digital copy to my wrist computer? I’ve got some leads to check out, but I can give them a look-see while N is kicking in some faces.”

She hums over comm, “You got it, Baby Bird. Try not to let your boyfriend kill off our city.”

Tim guns the bike, revving it to go faster, harder. “What? You afraid I’ll steal the title of worst break-up in the family? Bruce has to lose his place eventually Babs, Red out.”

Ra’s chemical lab by the water is _unlocked_. Which by all means should be a sign with showgirls and feathers that it’s a big trap...only there’s nothing there. Sure there’s examples of pit water and an assortment of goodies that would make any of Gotham’s rouge gallery squeal with fiendish delight, but nothing Tim can use. Or anyone to beat up. Tim is a bit miffed about that. Okay, cross that out, he’s _pissed as hell_ because there’s not even a single guard, not even a scrap of black fluttering in the corners for a ninja to say ‘hi.’

How rude.

Meeting his eye, there’s only neat rows of tables, beakers, and the same designs that Ra’s presented to the Gala. Oh and a note. Folded neatly in an open envelope with Tim’s full name on it in gorgeous calligraphy.

Because Ra’s is a magnificent bastard.   

Tim snatches it up and his fingers crinkle the page as he unfolds it in hurried movements. The green ink, because everything’s in green (honestly he should introduce Ra’s to Ivy, they have so much in common), is glossy to the touch and there’s a hint of spice that Tim’s recognizes as Ra’s scent immediately. Chai and cloves. Madder than ever, he tells himself _not_ to rip the possible evidence just because he’s memorized the way Ra’s smells.   

_My Dear Beloved,_

_Why would you need break into a kingdom that is already yours? When have I denied you access to my labs and systems? You possess all the keys yet that shall not save your city._

_There is a boat at the dock with my insignia._

_Forget your mission, it is futile. Leave this place before it is too late. I will be...displeased if the next time I hold you, it is your corpse I must cradle._

_Respecting your stance on using the pit is infuriating. See reason and abandon your mentor, my Love._

_Leave._

What do you know? He does end up ripping the paper in fascinating, tiny pieces. It’s like snow. It’s barely satisfying.

They’re on the clock. He races to his bike, blares through the night to check every other hidey-holes Tim knows Ra’s has. One hour becomes two, three, and a dejected Tim returns to the cave to see Bruce pacing the floor. The filter’s plans are blown up on every screen they have.

They don’t crack the mystery that night.

And it takes too long for them to figure it out.

* * *

The first ones to get sick are animals.

Despite the lack of support from WE, filters pop up everywhere like some crazy rich fad. Like magic or IKEA, the machines are put together in under an hour and there’s _fifty of them._  B dots them on the map, but there’s no pattern, it really is randomly spread out as some are placed in the slums as acts of charity, others are set up on the top of wealthy estates like solar panels. Of course, the first Bat response is to monitor the heck out of them. Within minutes, Tim creates a detector that inspects the filters output every twenty minutes like clockwork and Tim pumps them out so N, Robin, and B can slap every filter with one.

“I just don’t understand.” Weary but his nerves keep him upright to stare at the screen, Tim forces sleep deprivation to work for him like the bitch it is. His hand absentmindedly pats the table for the coffee cup just in case. Is it caffeine or frustration that’s making him twitchy? “I’m getting _nothing_. Nothing but oxygen. What is the pit water even being used for?”

B leans over his shoulder and taps on the central mechanism of the design. “Perhaps to power the whole thing?”

“Maybe, but it’s not doing anything. What if it’s all just a distraction? What if our attention is being completely wasted while somewhere else Ra’s is—”

There’s a loud buzz overhead and Bruce flips the call to broadcast the call into the cave, “B here, report.”

“Father. There is a terrifying decrease in the animal population in Block 4.” Damian’s voice has a small tremor and for the young boy...that’s practically a scream of distress. “I have already contacted vets and animal hospitals in every vector of Gotham and yet I keep finding…this.”

B connects to Damian’s video feed, it appears that Robin’s in an alley of some kind. It’s a long one, and from Damian’s feet all the way to the back are cats and dogs, no strays all curled up on their side as if in sleep.

But their eyes are open and plastic-looking. Their mouths wide, tongues and contents of their stomach spewed out on the gravel. It’s a nightmare perfectly designed for the kid.

“Robin, return to headquarters immediately. You don’t have to—”

“All pet owners I have questioned also report that the health of their animals have declined. It does not matter where in the city, yet creatures that are kept deep inside of their residences appear to be affected the least.” From the camera, they watch green gloves carefully, gently pick up one of the carcasses. “It must be from those vile contraptions. _They must be destroyed.”_

“D...Robin,” Tim tries, “There’s nothing new being pumped in the air. I’ve tried, analyzed everything we have on file, and no chemical components have been released into the atmosphere.”

“Tch. No matter. I must check to see if any of these animals can be hospitalized. Red will you relay to the public to keep their pets indoor?”

Tim hacks away at phone lines, creating an automatic text response that will appear on every electronic device in Gotham. “Of course, Robin.”

“...Thank you. Father, keep me updated, I shall return shortly.”

And he does.

In Red Hood’s arms far too pale, far too clammy and rasping.

“Special delivery.” Jason hauls the figure onto a medibed. “Wish it was a better one.”

All the air is punched out Tim’s lungs at the sight of the limp Robin. He can’t breathe and his body jerks towards B and Dick. The two appear to be in the same boat.

“What, _Dami—_ ” Dick starts.

“Get him hooked up immediately,” B growled, “I want to know his vitals _now!”_

Everyone rushes to obey.

Tim snatches the IVs, while Dick and Bruce hover over the bed like vultures, silent to hear the shallow breathing of the boy better. The monitor pops up with symptoms; varying levels of lung damage, nausea, retina damage, and—

Damian heaves of the bed, his limbs violently spasming as Dick goes into complete panic mode.

Seizures.

“Where did you find him?” Tim asks Jason, walking back at the map of filter locations again. Scanning at the interior design of the machines again. Doing everything he’d already done over again, because he’s missing something. _What is he missing?_ Yes, he can definitely tell that Bruce’s hunch was right, the pit water is running the filter, but not only that. It’s amplifying it. _But amplifying what?_

_“Alfred, we need you down here.”_

Gruffly Jason answers, “Found ‘im at Main and Cobbler. Found ‘im like that too, lying on the street like roadkill.” He stuffs his hands in his pocket all cool, but Tim catches the tell.

“He might not be the only one either,” O solemnly says over the coms, on Tim’s wrist computer, the reports she sends fill him with shocked horror. Security cams of kids being rushed to the emergency room, their parents with tear-streaked faces as doctors frantically rush to and fro.

_“Alfred, I need you now!”_

“I’ll get ‘im.” Jason yells, his boots ringing loudly on the stairs up to the manor.

“O,” Tim’s voice is quiet, disconnected. “How many cases...No, how many victims are there so far?”

A pause, two. “Currently? There is a hundred and sixty-four reported cases that have been admitted to the hospital. Most are in critical condition, but doctors are doing everything they can and, unlike the animals, it seems like there’s been no fatalities yet.”

“Good.” Tim takes a deep breath through his nose. “That’s good.”

 _“We have a fucking problem here!”_ Jason screeches, he’s back with Alfred.

Actually let Tim rephrase that, _on Jason’s back is Alfred_. Fuck. That is less good. Tim is not the praying type, but when Jason drags over another gurney to strap Alfred in? The pallor in the older gentleman highlighted by his blurry unfocused eyes? **Tim prays.** His knees buckling but his grip on the computer table keeps him from crashing to the floor.

_‘Ra’s. Please Ra’s, no. Don’t take them away from him. Don’t do this.’_

But he knows somewhere Ra’s is watching, the Demon Head drinking in the destruction of the city he hates. Somewhere a ninja is disclosing exactly how much his attack _stings_. How effective his poison is as the Bat leans over two of the most important people in his life, the oldest and youngest and _breaks_.

Tim wishes and prays for things he can’t have.

“Get up, we’re gonna wreck these trash cans, right? Right, Babybird?” Jason says, roughly yanking Tim away from the computer to the motorcycles in the back. The Red Hood’s trembling becomes more pronounced at finding another family member at death’s door. “Look, it’s Occam's razor. Simplest way to take outta bitch. Who cares what they’re doing to the air? We smash the things and poof they’re outta the picture n’ we’re back ta normal.”

“It would stop whatever process they’re doing,” Tim rationalizes, “But, Jason, whatever is in the air affecting people is still there.”

“I don’t care. N. N! Dammit, Dick, get your bubble ass over here.” Jason takes control and Nightwing slowly turns to the two, his face wet and gone. “Let’s go huntin’. Let’s fuck these things up. You’d like that, huh?”

Nightwing expression transforms into a feral snarl. _“_ Yes I would. _Let’s.”_  

“B, you stay here and keep treating those two.” Tim grabs his helmet and straddles the bike. “Keep looking at the files, keeping looking for what we’re missing. It’s got to be there somewhere.”

“Somewhere...right. We need a new approach. This is not like Ra’s. He’s switching it up. Switching from his usual elaborate style with bits of clues bleeding all over the place.” B replies tersely, losing that haunted look momentarily. His heads steady as he makes Alfred and Damian as comfortable as possible. “The only thing we’re finding is just oxygen.”

It’s at that second it crashes into Tim. It’s just oxygen.

_‘The filtration units perform their designed function, nothing more. They will filter this wretched air your disgusting city has polluted and leave only oxygen in its place.’_

It’s just oxygen.

“Oh. my. god. It’s exactly what it says on the label,” Tim whispers stunned. “It was right there in front of us, of course it was, that inhumane, diabolical, waste of—”

“Tim? Come on, we’ve some things to trash, no time to get lost in yer head.”  

For the first time in fourteen hours, Tim grins wildly at the Bat’s around him, “Then let me share with the class.”

Tim has a plan.

And damn it feels good.

* * *

At the climax, Red Robin ends up with a dislocated knee and three cracked ribs. The blood dripping from his nose streams down his chin as Ra’s shakes him repeatedly. The villain holding him high off the ground as each word is punctuated by the grip on the uniform collar.

“You. Infuriating. Insufferable. **_Pest_**.”

“You fucking—“ cough “ _—love_ me.”

_“You ruined everything!”_

“Yes. Yes I did.”

Alfred and Damian are safe. Gotham is safe. Nightwing and Jason took out filters like moms at a 75% off sale and fun fact, _did you know that pure oxygen is bad for you?_ Sure, we need it to breathe, but too much high pressure oxygen can give the same side effects sick scuba divers have.

Plus, it can kill you.

Solution: pump some sweet carbon dioxide at the same rate Ra’s super filters pump oxygen to balance it out and voila no more oxygen poisoning for you. Who handled that? _Brucie_. Not the Bat, but Bruce freaking Wayne, who contacted WE with a little help from O, and all factories were a go. Just in time, since exposure to pure oxygen for over sixteen hours can cause _permanent lung damage and death_ and guess who confronted Ra’s juuuuuuust to stop him from turning up the filtration levels so the carbon dioxide couldn’t work? Guess who took out Ra’s’ remote control system that synced up the machines? Guess who stopped the oxygen plague at fifteen hours and forty-two minutes?

_“How dare you!”_

You’re looking at him, baby.

Around them, the building is in shambles, _the extra filtration unit was cheating, Ra’s_ , but hey they’re on the ground floor with no windows for the man to kick Tim through _so score._ True, his body is a limp, useless lump, but spite keeps him smug and victorious. He hopes the muscles in his face are working enough to convey that. It must have since Ra’s expression twists in absolute fury. _“How dare you deny my vengeance! How dare you continue to get in my way over and over again—”_

“—Then _end_ it, you bastard.” Tim forces his eyes crack open to meet Ra’s burning glare. “You g-got me right where you want me, don’t you?”

 _“I wanted you far from here!”_ he hisses at him. “I wanted you miles away in my keep, _safe and sound and mine_.”

“Tough fucking luck, you want to stop me? Then kill me, _Darling_.” Tim moves his arms to scratch hard at Ra’s wrists, drawing blood before grab them tightly. Anything to take a little of the weight so he can breathe a little more, speak a little more, _because he’s not done yet._ He’s actually impressed that Ra’s can hold him up, he’s sure he broke at least two of those fingers. The demon’s trap is such a _pain_ to evade after all. “You want to win your stupid games? Then stop playing and _break my neck_. You’ve said it yourself, I’m a _detective_. I figure out all your plans and foil them because _newsflash that’s what detectives do._ So here you go, the perfect opportunity to end me, end me like the annoying, persistent bug you know I am. You have the skill, so what are you doing to do?”

_“You—”_

“I love you.”

Ra’s freezes, the man almost a statue and Tim would laugh and _laugh_ if he had the energy for it. His toes scrape on the pavement, he feels like a ghost already.

“I am never going to stop.” Tim tries to crack his lips into a smile. They’re too dry and it _hurts_. “You are never going to stop. I’ve accepted it. I hate it. I hate you, and I hate how much I still want to be _with_ you, but I’ve accepted it. So are you going to do the same or finally break us?”

Tim’s feet crash to the ground, he doesn’t bother supporting his own weight, just sags into Ra’s’ grip still around his neck. A few yards away their two forms would appear as lovers and not enemies about to kill each other. “It is not that simple, my brilliant scorpion.”

“We’ve already drowned R-Ra’s.” He wheezes. _“Now make up your damn mind.”_

The fingers begin to constrict and Tim winces but is not surprised. This was always a possible outcome. He just wishes he could see Ra’s’ face when his last contingency kicks in. The one that connects his heart rate to the _bombs_ attached to not only the last of Ra’s’ Lazarus pits but even the ones tucked deep into the earth on the vein that springs them up in the first place.

It doesn’t matter.

He’ll just have to wait until they meet again in Hell.

Tim doubts his lover would make him wait too long.

“What have you _done_ to me?”

The air gradually cut off from Tim’s throat. His broken gasps becoming fainter, weaker. But he doesn’t look away, only lifts his hand to brush Ra’s cheek with the back of his knuckles. He’s angry at the black creeping into his vision so quickly, Ra’s’ wretched sight may be the last thing he sees...but he doesn’t regret it. He’d do it again if he could.

“I should...no, I must be rid of you—”

There’s voices in the background, shouting his name, but Tim can’t pay them any mind. Not when his heartbeat is the loudest thing he hears in his ears, the way it rushes trying so hard, so frantically to still beat. He doesn’t want to miss a thing, not even as the darkness finally overtakes him and he. is. out.

_“—Yet I cannot stand the thought of mourning you.”_

* * *

“T–!”

_“Tim, please you have to get up.”_

Tim gasps, his eyes shooting open to stalactites and faces above his own.

“Timmy, you’re finally awake!”

“I-I’m alive?” he croaks. His voice grating and sore. Huh. Well Tim didn’t plan for this. He reaches to his neck and wonders if there’s bruises in the shape of Ra’s’ fingerprints. It definitely hurts like it would.

“Yeah, the sec we got in a hundred feet, Ra’s lobbed ya at us like a football and ran off like the filthy coward he is.” Jason sits at the end of the bed.

But he didn’t snap his neck like vigilante expected either. The assassin could have, _would have_ had enough time to do that before the others could get to him. He could have had a consolation prize: revenge nice and neat by throwing another dead son at the Bat’s feet.

But he didn’t.

Red takes in his surroundings, the bats echoing somewhere in the cave, how he must be on the good stuff because _he can’t feel anything._ Not that it stops Dick from placing a hand on his shoulder to pin him down to the cot when he tries to sit up.

“Whoa, what do you think you’re doing, little brother?”

“Where’s Alfred and Damian? Are they alright? Are they—”

An indignant sniff to his left, “What? Did you suppose you could be rid of my existence so easily? Despite your predisposition for it, do not be a fool, Drake.” Damian leans over with a show of crossing his arms. But there’s a lack of bite in those words.

“Are your animals, Batcow and all, okay?”

Damian glowers and looks away, “They are fine, of course. Just like you shall also be in no time, I suppose.”

Tim smiles. Watches as Dick coos and attacks the youngest in a _big hug of death._ Even Jason’s lips twitch.

Alfred steps into his scope of vision. Tim’s breathing relaxes more, it’s great to see the grace and poise back in the butler. Alfred is...special to him, to the whole family, for a reason after all. “I am here as well. Master Damian and I should recover rather quickly without much assistance. It seems, however, the recovery for your injuries will require much more.”

Tim manages not to shrug, to be fair it really could have been much worse. It was almost as if Ra’s had been playing nice. He might actually recover in one or two months! He looks around, his head dropping back to the pillows at the lack of one more..person he would like to see. His heart betraying him with disappointment.

“Where’s Bruce?” His tone betrays him too, dang it.

“He is out on the veranda. There is something urgent that he must see to,” Alfred says steadily, the man thinks of how Master Bruce has been guarding the entrance to the medbay for quite some time. His ward being armed with things that _hurt_ , for the Bat has lost his charitable mood as of late. Then the butler arches an eyebrow, “In fact, Master Timothy, could you please enlighten us as to why over twenty ninjas are camped on the lawn?”

Huh. The gesture is sweet. Almost as sweet as the time Ra’s gave him the files for nineteen sex traffickers for his birthday.

“I probably got them in the divorce.” At Dick’s strangled noises, Tim adds, “Nah, most likely they’re just here to make sure I stabilize.”

The collective sigh of relief around him is annoying. Okay, Tim can’t help it.

“I mean, we’d have to break up or something for that to happen first and I don’t remember the two of us doing that.”

Cries of outrage, “Tim, he almost killed you!”

“But he didn’t.”

“He almost killed off half of Gotham’s population!”

“But we stopped him in time.” Tim wiggles minutely to get comfortable. “The fight is over, no harm, no foul.”

_“Tim, you’re harmed all over!”_

Tim continues like he wasn’t interrupted, “It’s like a normal Tuesday for us at this rate. Alfred, could you tell B I’m fine and awake? It should be enough for the ninjas to get the memo that I’m okay and go the fuck away.”

“If that is what you wish for, Master Timothy.” The butler bows and walks away, knowing the small crowd around the bed will keep the teenager secure. Before he heads upstairs, he picks up the AK-47 resting to the side. Some people need...persuasion it seems to leave his family in peace, though he supposes that the weapon is unbecoming for not being ‘a bat.’ To be frank, as Alfred’s shadow darkens the halls one step at a time, a line of children’s poetry continues to echo in his mind.

_‘But I’ve brought a big bat. I’m ready, you see. Now my troubles are going to have troubles with me.’_

Alfred will give Ra’s one concession. His men are quite annoyingly...persistent to get rid of. The challenge of it all is almost admirable.

Almost.

* * *

It takes a month for Tim to beg, banter, and threaten in order return to his perch where he can finally be _alone._

He’s overwhelmed by bliss at the thought.

Okay, so it may take longer than usual to dismantle the current array of bugs spread throughout the place. He may have had to sell his soul and swear to rest for a few more weeks that he swears he doesn’t need.

But, still, it’s nice to be home.

Where he’s not smothered every half in hour, he means you, _you Dick._ It’s lovely to be able to limp around his apartment freely, his prop-crutches being useful for a change. There’s no one to judge, assess, or psychoanalyze him on his views and how they haven’t changed concerning a certain person. He can finally relax and sink into his own bed and Tim almost wants to cry.

He loves his room. Where Tim doesn’t bother to lock his bedroom window. It’s annoying to fix the locks if they’re going to be broken repeatedly. So, at midnight, when he hears it crack open, the sliding of it so soft, Tim doesn’t turn around in bed to face it. He just waits for the cold of his back to turn to warmth, for something heavy to sink beside him and make the old mattress squeak. He’s patient for the arms to wind hesitantly around his waist, mindful of his injuries with a delicate touch.

“I wish you would cease needlessly provoking me.”

“I wish you’d close the window, you’re letting the cold in.”

“Have I ever failed to keep you warm, detective?”

Tim hums and settles deeper in the mattress, the ache of his injuries easing under good pain killers and the chest moving against his spine. The night eases around them, shadows moving, reminding him of roof tops and flying _free_ , never so free as _this_.

“So, do you hate me yet?”

Ra’s huffs quietly into Tim’s ear, “Not nearly enough it seems.” He presses a lingering kiss in the hollow behind it.

“I won, you know. Now you must _honorably,_ because you have honor, leave them alone for at least a few months. I’ve earned it.”

“You are not a gracious winner, my love.”

“Oh, does that mean you’re a sore loser? I promise not to rub it in your face too much.” He covers the hand resting on his stomach with one of his own.

“Failure provides opportunities for improvement, dearest. Next time, I will forgo giving you the option to choose. I am ashamed that I forgot how your self-preservation instincts are nonexistent.” He sucks lightly on the nape of Tim’s neck. “I know better now that next time I must drug you, next time I must have my men isolate you in a place far away so any plan of mine can proceed without your _delightful_ interference.”

“Can we not talk about next time?” Right now he doesn’t want to think of all the things that could and very well would be on the horizon. Doesn’t want to think of backup plans to the whole spirited away scenario. Not right now.

“If that what you wish, my beloved.”

A snort, “Besides a closed window?”

“Besides a closed window,” Ra’s agrees, starting to entangle their legs together. “I have no desire to leave your side tonight.”

“...Good.” Slowly, Tim is lulled by the presence of the demon giving him what he needs to fall asleep. It’s horrible how dependent his body has become on Ra’s. That might be Ra’s’ most successful diabolical plan yet.

Just before he’s done for, Ra’s whispers,

“One day, Timothy...I will not stop. I will follow through and wring your neck. Do you understand me correctly?”

“I do...I wouldn’t have it any other way. You know that. Now go to sleep.”

“Goodnight, my fair one.”

“Night, Ra’s.”

Tim dreams of frogs and scorpions. Of them at the bottom of the pond, the two floating motionless in the current...but floating together.

It is a good dream.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really couldn't have done this without three awesome people. Chalala whose art inspired me, Wintersnight who cheered me on being the great backboard for ideas she is and allseer15 who wrote me the kindest, sweetest things to give me the courage to post this. 
> 
> Bless them. 
> 
> Anyway I wanted to create a story where Ra's and Tim are clearly smitten, but neither will compromise their belief system for the other...and they know it. Try to respect it. The fic is sorta bittersweet, but these two can't help but gravitate towards each other even though in the end? They may be their lover's destruction. 
> 
> And yet they keep choosing to be together. :)


End file.
